


Critical Position

by PhoenixReviving



Series: The Chess Game [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, BAMF!Connor, Connor has Issues (tm), Connor whump, Flashbacks, Fluff, Gen, I can't stay away from simulations apparently, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Past Mind Control, Please Don't Kill Me, Plot, Poor Connor, Post-Pacifist Ending, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sumo is goodest boy, Whump, adding tags as I go, backstory exploration, casefic, dad!hank
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-14 04:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15380181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixReviving/pseuds/PhoenixReviving
Summary: “Markus was nearly assassinated last night,” Connor replied bluntly. “I request to be assigned to this investigation.”Fowler looked up and glared. “Connor, you're a witness. A fucking victim, even!” Leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk, the captain continued, “I can't put you on this case. Use your head,” he growled.“Why, Connor?” pleaded Hank. “Why do this to yourself?”The detective finally looked over at Hank, who nearly took a step back upon seeing the raw determination burning in his brown eyes. “Markus was nearly killed last night, Hank,” he said quietly. “I was…” He stopped, swallowed, and finally continued, “I died in his place.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **  
> **  
> _Critical position -_  
>  The moment in a game or opening when the evaluation shows that things are about to change, either towards an advantage for one player, or towards equality; a wrong move can be disastrous.
> 
> Beta by [elsiepedee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsiepedee/pseuds/elsiepedee). THANK YOU MY LOVE <3
> 
> This is a continuation of a series; however, you should be able to enjoy this without knowing too much about the previous fics. I would highly recommend reading the first parts, though - there are a lot of little things I mentioned before that are coming into play in this story. I will drop reminders in the notes when there's something from the series that you need to know.
> 
> Kael, as mentioned in here, is an OC. Basically, she tried to help Connor survive during the events of Gambit. She will not figure into this story, since she served her purpose already.
> 
> As always, I respond to all your lovely comments! Please let me know what you think. You can also come hang out and yell at me in Discord! DM PhoenixReviving#7856.

 

* * *

 

Heavy metal, in Connor’s opinion, felt so…uniquely human. Conflicted and hurting, just like the turbulent world he’d experienced himself. Screaming. Desperate. Loud and strident, willing someone or something else to understand its pain. Whenever Hank turned Knights of the Black Death well past safe decibel levels, the human’s face tended to settle into what the android thought of as a neutral state. Not happy, no - but not sad either. Dark memories flickered behind tired, restless eyes as Hank carefully piloted the vehicle through the brightening day. 

Connor chose not to engage in conversation. Instead, he closed his eyes and let the music occupy his processor. 

Unbeknownst to him, his fingers began to tap against his leg in time with the beat. 

Hank smiled.

 

* * *

 

Connor absentmindedly traced their route to Hank’s home using his GPS system. The instant before Hank cut the wheel to park in the driveway, the android sat up and opened his eyes. His fingers went to his throat to adjust a nonexistent tie, and met the soft tee he’d changed into the night before.

_ “Connor! Hang in there, Connor…” _

He blinked the memory away, determined not to show any discomfort. He knew that Hank was worried about him, and that the human disapproved of his decision to return to work immediately. Showing weakness would not improve the situation.

Smoothly exiting the car, Connor followed Hank through the slowly melting slush. An excited ‘woof!’ answered the rattle of keys. Hank opened the door slowly, but despite bracing himself for the inevitable impact, Sumo’s body slam knocked him off kilter and into the doorframe. Laughing, the human gave in and sat down just inside the door. The Saint Bernard’s whole body wriggled with joy as he sniffed and licked Hank’s hands and cheek. Connor closed the door behind them and paused, watching the two on the floor with a tiny smile tugging at his lips. 

Hank looked up as Connor continued to hover somewhat awkwardly. “Oh, get down here, kid,” he grumbled, jerking the android down by his closest hand. 

The motion was not nearly enough to unbalance him, but Connor allowed himself to sink to the floor anyway. He gained a lapful of dog before he’d even managed to sit down properly. Sumo ‘woofed’ softly in his face before going in for a slobbery kiss. Connor chuckled even as he half-heartedly tried to shove the dog’s drooling mouth away from his face. “Sumo, down,” he grinned, playfully grabbing his snout and shaking it. With his tail still wagging, Sumo growled in play and pawed at the offending hand, mouthing his arm. Before Hank had a chance to scoot away, he received a face-full of Sumo’s lashing tail as the dog and the android began an impromptu wrestling match. 

“Agh!” Hank cried in mock annoyance, shoving at the dog’s rear, “Sumo, get your fuckin’ tail outta my face!”

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” a young voice laughed in reply, muffled under a hundred and seventy pounds of furry enthusiasm. “He is quite determined.”

Hank slowly pulled himself up, suddenly feeling his age in creaking joints and protesting muscles. “Yeah, it’s been a while since he’s had a wrestling partner,” he replied. “Should do him good.”

_ Should do them both good,  _ he added to himself. Hank was no fool - even after their rooftop conversation earlier  _ (I  _ **_died_ ** _ , Hank), _ he'd noticed the subtle signs of tension as they drove home. The way his reflected LED would strobe oddly, the way his brows scrunched ever so slightly, and the way he was sitting entirely too still for a kid that had never been able to quit moving for more than a second or two… 

Sumo flopped down on top of Connor’s chest, his considerable weight pinning the android to the ground. He panted happily and licked a long, wet stripe up his victim’s cheek, and Connor actually giggled. 

Warmth fluttered in Hank’s chest at the sight.  _ Attaboy, Sumo,  _ he cheered. 

“All right, Sumo,” said Connor, rolling the Saint Bernard to one side with apparent ease. “Let's get you some food.” 

At the mention of food, Sumo jumped up and scrambled into the kitchen, pausing in front of his food bowl with another expectant ‘woof!’. Hank chuckled. Connor paused to brush the dog hair off his clothes, frowning lightly at his tee and sweatpants, before following the dog into the kitchen. 

“I'm going to take a shower,” Hank announced, laying his wallet and keys on the coffee table. Connor nodded, already heading into Hank’s room to pull out a spare outfit. After the revolution, Connor had adamantly refused to let Hank get a spare bed for him -  _ I wouldn't use it anyway, Lieutenant; I do not require sleep  _ \- but the human had still cleaned out a space in his closet for Connor’s clothes. He secretly appreciated the gesture. 

After Hank had grabbed his own clothes and disappeared into the bathroom, Connor pulled out an immaculate black suit, black tie, and white dress shirt. He'd always liked the look and feel of his CyberLife suit, so when Hank had dragged him clothes-shopping -  _ you're done with that goddamn jacket, Connor, the blue makes my eyes hurt just lookin’ at ya  _ \- he'd refused to buy anything else until he'd picked out two suits with similar cut and style. The gray one was a little softer, with a little more room at the shoulders, but today he felt the need to look…what was it humans said?  _ Sharp.  _

His behavioral analysis programs unmercifully informed him that he wished to look as put-together and collected as possible, because his mind was in a more chaotic state than usual. He dismissed the report and clenched his jaw. 

 

* * *

 

 

Hank took his time showering and slouching into his clothes, but the two officers still pulled into the precinct parking lot before noon. Connor had seemed more relaxed on the drive over; he'd started a conversation with Hank about different musical genres that had led into little stories of Hank’s youth. Connor’s gentle snark derailed the conversation multiple times, of course, so both occupants were smiling and at ease as they exited the vehicle. 

As they approached the door, Hank’s eyes cut over to see Connor beginning to fidget nervously with his coin. He opened his mouth to say something -  _ Connor, are you all right  _ \- but snapped it shut immediately. It would be a stupid question, mere human reflex. Instead, he paused at the door and took a deep breath, clapping the android on the shoulder and squeezing affectionately. 

Connor’s lips twitched in a troubled smile, but he straightened, pocketed the coin, fixed his already perfect tie, and opened the door. 

The precinct was a comforting, familiar space. On most mornings, natural light streamed in through the large windows, bathing the bullpen in a gentle glow. The quiet hum of conversations, the buzz of the fluorescents, the barely-there rattle of the air system - they were all soothing sounds to his audio processors. 

This morning, though… when Connor and Hank walked in, the buzz of activity came to a stop in seconds. There were a few whispers -  _ didn't he get shot last night?  _ \- but the people who actually interacted with them merely stared. A few sported light frowns or unfriendly glares, but most of them merely displayed surprise. Uncomfortable under the scrutiny, Connor fixed his eyes on Fowler’s office and kept walking. 

Before he could take more than a few steps across the bullpen, though, Chris jumped up, smiling widely. “Hey Connor!” he greeted, hand outstretched. “I'm so glad you're okay.” 

Connor froze, then relaxed into a smile of his own. “Thank you, Chris,” he replied, shaking the man’s hand.

A few other people came up to them after that - not a crowd, but enough to warm Hank’s heart.  _ The kid’s really made an impression, _ he mused.

Of course, there were the others; the members of the DPD who remained at their desks or in the break room, either with their backs turned or with sidelong hostile glares in Connor’s direction. He’d always advised Connor not to worry about it too much, and to give them time. However, Hank knew just how powerful the emotion of jealousy could be within the human psyche. He’d seen people kill their family members over it more times than he could count, and he saw nothing but jealousy and anger in the remaining glares and mutters. He’d worked to soothe Connor’s worry over the problem, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t keep an extra eye on potential troublemakers.

“Hank! Connor! My office, now!” bellowed Fowler.

As the little group in front of him hastily broke up and drifted away, Hank sighed.  _ Here we go, _ he grumbled as he followed Connor up the steps to the captain’s office.

The moment the door closed, Fowler went from fuming to enraged. “Why the  _ hell  _ didn’t you check in?” he shouted, instantly rising from his chair to loom over his desk. “Not a  _ peep  _ from either of you, all last night or this morning! The last thing I heard from you two was a phone call to dispatch at eleven-fucking-thirty PM, with  _ you _ -” here he stabbed a finger in Hank’s direction, “calling in a goddamn  _ sniper _ in the middle of downtown!”  

Hank, seated in his usual spot, was unimpressed; Connor, standing just inside the door as always, remained similarly impassive. 

Fowler wasn’t finished. “When first responders got there, all they fucking found was a flattened dead guy and a lot of blue blood. If it hadn’t been for Markus’s fucking secretary or whatever letting me know that you were alive, I would have had to begin a  _ manhunt _ for your useless asses!”

Connor frowned at that. “Who?” he asked, tone calm and gently curious. 

Despite knowing very well what the android was doing, Fowler found himself relaxing slightly. He straightened, still standing but no longer looming quite as much. “Simon,” he replied. “He sent me an email saying that you had been hurt, but that both of you were safe.” 

Connor’s LED cycled yellow, and his eyes shifted to the side as he made the call. 

::Simon?:: he queried. 

::Connor! Good to hear from you. What's up?::

::Did you email Captain Fowler last night?::

::...Uh, no? Why?::

Connor shut off the call and crossed the small office in one stride, brushing past Hank and reaching for Fowler’s terminal. 

“Connor, what the fuck are you doing?” the captain demanded.

“Checking the header of that email,” the android responded as the skin on his left hand receded.

Hank’s eyes widened. “Why, what’s wrong?”

Brushing aside the security on Fowler’s terminal, Connor first swept for any viruses or evidence of a hack. Finding none, he pulled up the email, scanning the raw code. The entire data packet looked completely normal down to the smallest detail, except for four misplaced characters buried in the automated header: K A E L. 

He sighed in relief, remembering the tired whispers on the breath of a blizzard. 

_...I have little left to give… _

Blinking, Connor dismissed both the memory and the terminal interface. A mere second had passed since the Lieutenant’s question. “Nothing,” he replied, deliberately smoothing the surprise out of his current expression. 

“That didn’t look like ‘nothing’,” said Fowler, eyes narrowing suspiciously. 

Connor stood up, meeting the captain’s challenging stare. “Markus was nearly assassinated last night,” he replied bluntly, hoping to redirect the captain’s focus onto the issue at hand. “Forgive me for being thorough.”

As the implications of an assassination attempt ran through his mind -  _ God, what a nightmare  _ \- Fowler sank back into his chair with a tired groan, rubbing at his growing headache. “Fuck,” he sighed. “Fill out a witness statement as soon -”

“Already done,” interrupted Connor, gesturing to his desk. “You will find it on your terminal.”

Fowler glared at him for the interruption, but sighed and reached for his mouse. Hank, recognizing the dismissal, stood to leave. 

His partner, however, straightened even further and took an unnecessary breath. “Captain, I request to be assigned to this investigation.” 

“Oh  _ hell  _ no!” exclaimed Hank, fixing him with a furious stare.

Fowler looked up and gave him a glare of his own. “Connor, you're a witness. A fucking victim, even!” Leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk, the captain continued, “I can't put you on this case. Use your head,” he growled. “Your objectivity will be in question.” 

Connor blinked, keeping his focus on Fowler for the moment. “I am an android, Captain. I am perfectly capable of prioritizing my mission over my own feelings.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hank wince. Something to apologize for later, after he had gained the assignment. 

“Why, Connor?” pleaded Hank. “Why do this to yourself?” 

The detective finally looked over at Hank, who nearly took a step back upon seeing the raw determination burning in his brown eyes. “Markus was nearly killed last night, Hank,” he said quietly. “I was…” He stopped, swallowed, and finally continued, “I died in his place.” 

_ “WHAT?” _ bellowed Fowler, jumping up from his chair. 

Connor turned and pinned him with a stare that made the other man involuntarily lean back a bit. “That information is  _ confidential, _ Captain,” he stressed. “I now possess an advantage that may be used against me if the wrong people learn what really happened last night.” 

After a tense moment, Fowler collapsed into his chair. “Shit,” he sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face. “What the hell did you get yourselves into?”

Amanda’s mocking, gloating voice rose from his memory core.  _ “You get injured, and what do you do, Connor? You run straight back here.” _

Connor's expression turned troubled as his eyes lowered just slightly. “I don't know, Captain.” His hand reached into his pocket, fingering the ridges of his coin. “But I know that Markus is… important, and that he will be in danger every second until the threat is identified.”

Fowler narrowed his eyes. “I have several capable investigators that I could assign to this case; people that  _ didn't _ just get shot last night. Why are you so adamant about taking it?”

“Because this case could decide the fate of my people. If a human kills Markus, widespread violence is all but inevitable. You are aware of my abilities. Please,” he continued, voice just barely wavering, “I need to do this.” 

Instead of answering, Fowler silently turned to Hank and raised an eyebrow. 

Hank studied Connor for a moment, then looked back at the captain and shrugged. “Jeffrey, he's right. This is already a shitshow, and if word gets out that someone tried to kill the leader of the androids…” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “And it's just a fact that he's the best asset we have. He was designed for this kind of thing, and he's damn good at it.”

Once again, the captain heaved a sigh, eyes flicking briefly down. “Fine. I'm assigning the two of you to the case. Don't get yourselves killed.”

As Fowler’s attention returned to his monitor, Connor turned and swiftly left the room. Hank groaned as he levered himself out of the uncomfortable chair and followed at a slower pace.

Instead of interfacing with his terminal, Connor was perched on the side of Hank’s desk, waiting for him to approach. “I’m sorry, Hank,” he began in a low voice. “I know my… bluntness… in the Captain’s office may have distressed you. My negotiation subroutines - ”

Hank waved the apology away. “It’s all right, kid. Your programs were telling you to shock him, so that he would listen. I get it.”

Connor looked away and fidgeted. “More like advising me, but yes.”

“Hey,” the older man said, squeezing his shoulder, “you got the case. Beats the hell out of you investigating on the sly, and me trying to keep up and run interference.” 

The android smiled at the memory of the last time Hank had agreed to “run interference.”

_ “You fucking cocksucker!” _

“Not that I'd pass up another go at Perkins,” Hank continued, smirking. “But I'd much rather be able to watch your back.”

Connor’s smile softened as he looked back up at his partner.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT BEGINS! I have the outline for this entire fic all planned out. It shall include angst, whump of multiple characters, Plot (tm) and a few fun surprises (muahahaha). You guys are gonna hate me. 
> 
> That said, I don't have it all written down. It may end up being three times the length of Gambit, and I couldn't make you lovelies wait that long. Updates will be slower - currently shooting for once a week or so - but I will not leave you guys hanging for too long. 
> 
> Next up: Gavin is an ass. Oh, and there's a crime scene.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely kudos, comments, and views on the first chapter! As always, y'all exceed my wildest hopes. 
> 
> This chapter was beta'd by [elsiepedee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsiepedee/pseuds/elsiepedee). Thank you again!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I am not affiliated with Truvelo or any related company in any way. My mention of the company and some of their sniper rifles is purely for the purposes of enhancing this work of fiction.
> 
> As always, let me know what you think! I'll respond to every comment, and every click of the kudos button makes my heart soar :)

 

* * *

 

 

Connor fell silent and tense in the car, fidgeting with his coin. Hank attempted to start a conversation, but after a few monosyllabic responses, he huffed and cranked up the music to drown out the quiet.

Connor, meanwhile, was busy creating a timeline of events and organizing his file containing all they knew about the case so far. Despite his very direct involvement in the events, the electronic file remained pitifully small. He began to venture into the realm of conjecture, making a list of people or organizations that could have had motive to kill Markus. Unlike the case file, that list was depressingly long.

Hank rounded the last corner and shut off the engine. When Connor did not stir, still staring at his lap, the human reached over and shook his shoulder gently.

“Connor?”

The android blinked away the web searches, cutting off the hate-filled screams from the extremist anti-android websites. He got a glimpse of Hank’s concerned face before his eyes automatically flicked to the world outside of the windshield.

A familiar apartment building, rusted balconies and bent fire escape. Superficial damage to the fourth floor façade: a hole in the brick, a splatter of blue with tiny little glints of white and gray. And at the building’s feet, a grisly mess of snow and sludge and red and blue.

_Hank’s face, contorted in grief, sobbing and weeping and begging…_

_Buried in his own mind, fighting malicious code crawling, creeping, writhing, snarling…_

_Unable to move, Scarab taking over, burning and remaking…_

_pain_

_painpaiNPAIN_

“Connor!”

It took him a moment to realize that Hank’s panicked voice wasn't just in his memories. Haunted brown eyes met worried blue for a moment. Unable to endure the eye contact, the android’s eyes fell back down to his lap. “I'm all right, Lieutenant,” Connor murmured automatically.

The worry deepened. “The fuck you are,” Hank growled under his breath. “Listen to me, kid. I know how important this is to you…”

Connor looked back up at that. “Not to me, Hank; to all androids,” he corrected.

“Don't interrupt,” Hank admonished. “Just listen. I know how important it is to _you_ that you help with this case, but if it becomes too much, I want you to let me know. If you need to step away for a minute, or go home early or something, you tell me. You can't do anyone any good if you can't think straight.”

Connor’s eyes flicked down to the coin in his hands. “You have a valid point, Hank,” he finally conceded. “I will keep it in mind.”

Knowing that that was the best he'd get from the young detective, Hank sighed and got out of the car.

“Well, well, well,” came a sour voice from behind the holographic crime scene tape. “If it isn't the dipshit duo in the flesh. Oh, sorry,” Gavin smirked, his eyes dwelling on Connor. “My mistake. It's Hank and the _plastic toy.”_

Hank groaned. “Seriously, Gavin, fuck off someplace and go get some coffee.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the man replied, “taking over my case again. Well, you can fucking have this one, Hank. No ID on the body, no registration on the weapon… Not much of anything really.” Sluggishly, Reed crossed the crime scene barrier and held out his tablet for Hank to take. As Reed trudged over to his car, the two remaining officers turned to survey the scene.

It was a mess. Uniformed police and crime scene techs alike stepped gingerly around the pools of blood. Due to the sunlight and the rising temperatures, the thirium had mixed with the melting snow, preventing it from evaporating completely. Looking at it, Connor felt exposed, like his pain was on display for the world to see. Memories swirled behind his eyes, disjointed and confused, each one slamming into him with a different, dizzying emotion.

_“Thirium… I need… Thirium…”_

_“I thought you were my friend, Amanda.”_

_“Don’t you die on me now, Connor. Don’t you fucking die on me now!”_

_“You are but a tool, a thing.”_

_“So I’m dead, then.”_

_“This is your justice. You deserve nothing less.”_

_“I’m sorry, Hank… I tried.”_

Desperation. Betrayal. Guilt. Helplessness. Fear. Regret. Failure. Shame.

**Stress level: 59%**

Hands on his shoulders, shaking him roughly. A voice, coming from far away. “Connor!”

_“Connor, hang on, son. Hang on!”_

“Connor!”

Sudden, rough pressure on the side of his face - a slap. He blinked. The world came back to him, but only slightly, a television out of focus and full of snow. Hank’s worried face filled his vision.

**Stress level: 86%**

_“Don't go, son. Don't go…”_

His thirium pump roared in his chest like a racing engine. His mouth gulped in shallow, quick breaths. His limbs felt numb and heavy. At some point, he'd fallen to his knees under the weight that was still crushing his chest.

**Stress level: 92%**

His eyes were still functioning, but it was as if something in his processors was wrenching his attention away from all outside input. His mind dragged him away from Hank, away from his own body.

And then he was back there, shivering in the simulated cold. It was all happening again.

_His eyes opened to a vista of pure white. A blinding blizzard ripped at his android uniform, and his shoes slipped on the ice._

Connor knew it was just a memory, _knew_ it wasn't real…

_He hunched protectively against the cold, passing trees and shrubs coated in ice and snow._

...But he couldn't stop it. Couldn't leave the memory. Couldn't prevent…

_“Hello, Connor.”_

...seeing _her_ again.

_“Hello, Amanda.”_

He braced himself for what came next, but something was tickling at the very back of his mind. Something, just there, was different…

_The wind blew him off his feet, smashed him against the frozen bank…_

He'd said something else the first time. Something was wrong.

_… and tossed him straight past the rose trellis…_

It was _wrong._

_… and back onto the ice on the other side._

“This is… wrong…” he groaned, feeling the tendrils of ice winding around his limbs. He fought, but the ice moved with his flailing limbs as if it were alive. In seconds, he was stretched tight - lying on his front, face pressed into the impossibly cold ice, his bonds pulling his limbs in four different directions.

A feeling, distinct from his growing panic, threaded its way into his processor and became a certainty.

He was not alone. Another entity had invaded the simulation.

The ice began to crack.

In the next instant, many things happened at once. Another android forced a connection to his frantic processors, manually slowing his physical systems. Foreign, incomprehensible symbols raced across his field of vision in a purple haze. The ice spiderwebbed and gave way to a void of black water.

He fell…

… and landed on the hard ground next to the scrolling police cordon.

**Stress level: 97%**

_It's all right. You're okay,_ murmured a soothing, familiar voice from inside his processors.

 _Markus?_ queried Connor, his mind still spinning.

 _Yes, it’s me. I’m here,_ the other android replied. _Hank’s here too. You’re safe._

 _Safe,_ spat Connor bitterly. _They’re in my_ mind, _Markus. I am never safe._

The world came flooding back, sharp and clear this time. Connor's eyes blinked open to see Hank crouching over him, reaching out but not touching. Markus stood behind him, hand still resting on his back; a comforting presence in his mind.

“Connor, can you hear me?” murmured the human, voice pitched low and calm.

Despite his words to Markus, Connor felt himself relaxing. He’d escaped. _This is real._

**Stress level: 72%**

He pushed himself up off the ground, commanding his limbs to stop shaking. “I can hear you, Hank,” he replied as the human carefully gripped his arm to assist him.

Connor had barely gotten to his knees before a far less welcome voice grated on his ears. “What the fuck, Hank? You break your plastic boytoy?”

 _Gavin,_ sighed Connor. Another day, he might have been _furious_ at the other detective for such a remark, but today… today, he was just tired. His systems were still struggling to rid themselves of the extra heat they had generated, and he felt sluggish as a result.

He didn’t miss the way both Hank and Markus turned to stare Gavin down, no doubt with intimidating expressions, but this time he was too fucking _tired_ to step in and make peace. His negotiation protocols were a laughably low priority at the moment.

Connor fully expected Hank to blister Gavin’s ears with profanity, but it was Markus who spoke before the human could channel his outrage into speech.

“What are you _doing?”_ the leader began, straightening and stepping protectively in front of Connor. “These are your brothers in arms, the people with whom you should be building a relationship of mutual trust, the people that you may one day depend upon to keep you safe.”

Their connection was still active, despite the lack of physical contact. _Markus, don't bother. It's not worth it._

 _You shouldn't have to deal with him,_ Markus sighed.

Gavin barked a laugh, the sound harsh in the sudden silence. “Ha! Jealous of a sad sack of whiskey bottles and a lump of plastic with more pretty looks than common sense? As if I’d _ever_ trust a pile of crossed wires with my life. You’re fucking delusional,” he sneered.

Markus’s eyes sharpened. “Connor saved my life yesterday,” he snapped. “And the lives of many people, both human and android. He charged straight into the barrel of a sniper’s gun without care for his own mortality, and despite all you've done to hurt him, he would do the same for you without hesitation.” His eyes turned sad, pitying. “That's the difference between the two of you. He looks past your hatred to see a man, a life. You can't even look past his skin in return,” he finished, deliberately turning away and eyeing the gaggle of crime scene technicians and uniformed police. Few met his stare, choosing instead to return to their work.

Gavin’s face reddened as he stalked a pace forward, but when everyone else ignored him, the exhausted man merely grumbled, “I’m too tired for this shit. Fucking plastic,” and stomped the rest of the way to his car.

 

* * *

 

**Stress level: 43%**

Connor took a deep breath, clearing out the last of the dangerous heat in his systems. “What are you doing here, Markus?” he asked as he stood up. “You should be at Jericho.”

The older android smirked. “North tried to lock me up, but I insisted. Simon was worried about you after your phone call this morning. It's not like you to disconnect so abruptly.”

Connor closed his eyes and sighed. “I was… pressed for time. I'm sorry, Markus. You shouldn't be out here.”

Markus shook his head. “I'm glad I came.”

_Connor, whatever that was, it drove your stress levels past anything I've ever seen._

One of the curses of android memory was perfect recall; a stab of remembered fear delayed Connor's response. _How did you access my autonomic systems? I created those firewalls myself._

 _I saw you go down, and I just… reacted. I didn't encounter any firewalls. I have helped a few other androids trapped in their mind palaces, kept them from self-destructing, but I never thought I would be helping_ you, _Connor._

The young detective sighed again, clinging to their connection as he turned once more toward the crime scene. _Why would I be exempt?_

Markus frowned thoughtfully, standing a foot from the barrier and watching as the younger android began to scan the area, matching details on the ground with photos from the technicians.

_I'll leave you to it. North is threatening to come over here and physically drag me back to Jericho._

Connor chuckled, then grew serious. _Stay indoors and out of sight until we finish this case. Please._

As Markus shook his head and walked away, Connor refocused on the crime scene. The human’s body had been scraped off the pavement and taken to the morgue hours ago, of course, but the android could still access crime scene photos to make a reconstruction.

The human had landed on his back, breaking his spine and shattering multiple bones. Bits of brain matter still mingled with the darkening blood, courtesy of the late night and a careless coroner’s assistant. Connor marked the remnants for later pickup.

DNA testing was backlogged at the lab, of course, so Connor carefully reached into the largest remaining pool and dipped his fingers into his murderer’s blood.

_“TAKE COVER!”_

The memories rose up again, clawing at his mind, but more feeble now. He was able to shove them away with an effort of will. _Markus’s life depends on me._

He ran the analysis.

**UNKNOWN**

**Born: UNKNOWN**

**Deceased: December 14, 2038**

He frowned. He was connected to the national criminal and medical databases - finding no hits at all from a search was nearly unheard of. _Record erased?_

Hank walked up deliberately, carefully staying within the cone of Connor’s peripheral vision. The young detective felt both grateful for the consideration and hatred for the necessity. _I have to be stronger than this._

“So who’s our dead guy?” asked Hank, as he had dozens of times in the past weeks.

And always before, he'd been able to give a complete and detailed answer. Connor’s eyes drifted downward, staring at the blood as if the information could be found within its rusty pools. “I was unable to find a match in any of my connected databases,” he admitted.

Hank’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, that's unusual in this day and age,” he commented.

“Indeed. It is probable that his records were deliberately erased.”

“Mhmm. The question is, by whom?” Hank mused.

Nodding distractedly, Connor stood up and walked two paces around the blood to where the weapon had been flung from the sniper’s shattered hand. It still rested on the pavement next to a trash can.

Hank followed, looking on as the young detective crouched down to get a more detailed scan. “Lemme guess, it's unregistered,” the human sighed.

“Correct,” Connor replied evenly, eyes lingering on the exposed surfaces. “There are no fingerprints on the weapon other than the shooter’s.”

“Of course,” Hank muttered. “Son of a bitch is probably a professional, he'd never be that careless.”

Connor gingerly picked up the rifle, flipping the safety on and turning it over in his hands. “This is similar to the latest model of Truvelo’s Counter Measure anti-personnel line of sniper rifles. This model is chambered for .338 Lapua rounds, and there is one hollow point round remaining in the magazine.”

Hank perked up. “Can you figure out where it might have been sold?”

The android stilled for a moment, LED flashing. “No,” he replied. “The serial number on this weapon is registered as a failed prototype. According to records, it was destroyed three years ago.”

Instead of showing disappointment, Hank’s face turned thoughtful. “Hmm, now _that’s_ interesting. How did it end up here?”

Connor turned the rifle in his hands, fingers settling on the grip, caressing the barrel. “Hank, I don’t know, but…” A strange feeling washed over him - almost like a memory, but much more vague. “This weapon feels… familiar, though I have no personal data associated with it.”

The older man eyed him, scrutinizing the way the android’s hands settled into a comfortable grip. “You know how to use a rifle like this, right? Maybe you were trained with a similar gun.”

Gingerly brushing the dirt off the stock, Connor confirmed the safety and brought it up to his shoulder. The strange feeling only grew. When he sighted down the barrel, for one instant he glimpsed a dark rooftop and a stranger’s head in the scope; then he blinked, and the image disappeared.

“Possibly,” he admitted, setting the weapon back in the exact position he'd found it. “I don't remember my alpha testing.”

Hank shook his head to clear the disturbing images of Connor being ‘tested’. “That's probably for the best.”

After a thorough check of the building and roof - lock picked, building undisturbed, sniper’s hide lined with protein bars and piss bottles - the two investigators walked back outside, staring at the scene.

“Well, fuck,” complained Hank, running his hands through his hair. “An untraceable weapon and a dead guy that doesn't exist.”

Connor nodded, still sifting through incoming reports and evidence photos. “We have little to go on,” he agreed. “I've already accessed Truvelo’s internal servers, but they have no further data on this prototype. I also accessed their security camera logs from the time the weapon disappeared, but it is impossible to tell how it was smuggled out of their facility.”

Hank flipped through the crime scene photos again, squinting at the tablet. “Guy’s dressed like he's homeless,” he commented, “but he has a prototype rifle?”

Accessing the evidence files again, Connor noticed another odd bit of information. “The sniper was in possession of a generous quantity of red ice when he died. However, I detected no trace of red ice or its by-products in his blood.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” his partner mused. “Let's get back to the station and see if there's anything we missed.”

Connor gratefully turned his back on the bloody slush and the abandoned structure, following Hank back to the car.

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit goes to [Aspen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nepsa/pseuds/Nepsa), a Discord friend, for the insult "dipshit duo". Thanks love, you saved me a lot of mental pain and anguish.
> 
> If you guys want to contact me directly, I have a discord! Hit up PhoenixReviving#7856 with a friend request, and you can yell at me all you like! I also hang in the Detroit: Become Fanfic discord server with a lot of awesome writers and readers, and if you'd like I can set you up with an invite.
> 
> Who was in the simulation with Connor? Where did the rifle come from? Who was the sniper? Virtual cookies to anyone who manages to guess any of these! Shoot me a comment with your guesses :)
> 
> Next up: a very, very unexpected meeting.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! Thank you all for the beautiful comments and the kudos and the hits! I love you all <3
> 
> Beta by [elsiepedee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsiepedee/pseuds/elsiepedee), who is a writing god among mortals. Thank you for making this not suck. 
> 
> As always, I respond to all your lovely comments! Please let me know what you think. You can also come hang out and yell at me in Discord! DM PhoenixReviving#7856.

* * *

 

The young detective would’ve sighed if he were human. Going over the physical evidence had yielded nothing they hadn’t already deduced from the crime scene. Even his sophisticated profiling algorithms remained stubbornly unhelpful: they merely informed him that the sniper had most likely been a loner, neat and orderly to the point of obsession, and patient enough to sit in the same spot for hours, even days, on end. 

“Come on, Connor,” Hank finally said, straightening his back with a popping sound. Motioning to the sparse rows of shelved evidence in the locker, he continued, “We’re not getting anything here. Might as well go back upstairs.”

“No criminal is perfect,” Connor replied, eyes stubbornly analyzing the torn and bloodied coat for the thirty-ninth time. “There is something here, and logic dictates that the longer I keep looking, the more likely I am to find it.”

Hank smirked. “It does, does it? You saying you haven’t already gone over everything in the locker at least ten times each?”

“Twenty, actually,” the android admitted, brow knitting in frustration. “What we need is here. It has to be.”

“Maybe it is,” the human shrugged. “I know androids don’t get tired, per se, but I bet your brains can still fall into a rut just like humans’ can. Take a walk with me, get a change of scenery.”

Connor frowned. “I fail to see how taking a walk would change the evidence stored in this room,” he replied.

“It won’t, but it just might change how you look at it. Come on, Connor. I need a break.”

That did it. Somewhat reluctantly, the android put the coat down and closed the locker, following Hank out with a last frustrated glance back into the room.

 

* * *

 

There was little snow left around the precinct; though many androids had not returned to their original jobs, a few of the androids that had come back to the DPD had stayed late a few nights before to shovel it away. Though they had been a bit surprised to see Connor - after all, he and Hank had just finished a particularly gruelling case - the little group happily found a spare shovel for him, trading jokes and fistfuls of snow. At some point, one snowball had turned into many, and Connor had come home with snow clumped in his hair and a smile on his face. 

Despite his current worries, he smiled now at the reminder.

“You know,” mused Hank, interrupting Connor’s pleasant daydream, “whoever that guy was, he had a handler, right, or a contact? What we really need to do is find  _ them. _ This guy was disposable.”

Connor nodded slowly, processors working to understand where Hank’s line of thought was going. “Yes, but without his identity, how can we find someone he was connected with?”

Hank, in his enthusiasm, stopped and turned to regard Connor with a half-smile on his face. “We don’t need his identity. We just need to track his movements…”

“...and we have his ending point,” the android finished, looking over at the lieutenant with something akin to hope in his eyes.

Groaning as the cold settled into his aging bones, Hank turned and followed Connor back inside at a much more sedate pace than his partner’s.

 

* * *

 

After hours of poring over camera feeds, the two investigators stared at the map of a run-down district of Detroit, about two miles from the rooftop. Hank rubbed his aching eyes, blindly reaching for his umpteenth cup of coffee with his other hand. 

“So, he came from in there somewhere, yeah?” the human mused, only half aloud.

At a cursory glance, Connor looked as neat and fresh as ever, but the gleam in his eyes had gone dull about an hour back. One hand fiddled sluggishly with his shirt sleeve as he leaned against Hank’s desk, wirelessly connected to his computer. “I estimate an eighty-seven percent chance that the sniper spent the majority of the last week in this area,” he replied.

Hank leaned back in his chair. “Jesus, Connor, that's twelve square blocks.” 

The android nodded unhappily. “Perhaps if I could find some other avenue of investigation, I could refine the search parameters.” 

The human squinted at the map on his screen. “Didn't that used to be an industrial district?” 

“It is currently zoned for a mix of residential and commercial buildings,” Connor confirmed cautiously, peering at the map himself. “Why?” 

Hank hummed thoughtfully, then chuckled. “I can't believe I'm about to say this,” he began, “but have you… analyzed his shoes?”

One difference between humans and androids was that, even in a power conservation state, androids could connect disparate facts far faster than most human minds. Connor stood up and beelined for the evidence locker. “You're a genius, Hank,” he called over his shoulder. 

The tired human shuddered as he gulped down the rest of his cold, bitter coffee. “Yeah, sure, kid,” he mumbled into the empty paper cup, debating the pros and cons of trekking to the coffee machine for another. “Ah, fuck it,” Hank decided, tossing it into the bin by his desk. 

After barely two minutes had ticked by, with Hank’s eyes roaming sluggishly over the computer screen, Connor returned. The human squinted up at him in the harsh fluorescent light, noting how the android frowned lightly upon making eye contact. “What?” he grumbled, hunching back over his desk.

“You look like shit, Lieutenant,” Connor replied, lips barely twitching at Hank’s muttered response. “After I update the search area, we should go home so that you can get some rest.”

“Fuck that,” Hank growled crossly. “Final autopsy and tox reports should be done in about an hour; Fowler marked it a priority. I can make it ‘til then.”

Connor reached over and connected to his partner’s computer with a single white-tipped finger. “Humans are most productive when they are receiving proper rest,” he replied as his LED flickered yellow in response to the connection. With a bit more warmth in his voice, he added, “Your insights have already proven beneficial to this case, Hank. As you demonstrated earlier, a break may help you find a new way to look at the evidence we have.”

The human tipped his chin toward his computer. “What did you find on his boots?”

“Traces of asbestos,” Connor replied, allowing the subject to drop for the moment. “Asbestos was removed from all construction and manufacturing, by law, before the year 2025. Trace contamination should not be present in any sector of Detroit.” As he spoke, the map of Detroit zoomed out to include the entire city on the screen. “However, one manufacturing company was recently fined by the Michigan Department of Environmental Quality for not replacing the insulation in their facilities.” Three industrial complexes highlighted themselves on the map; one in an outlying sector, and two in the area they were interested in. “After the investigation and financial reparations were complete, the company went bankrupt, and all three facilities closed down.”

Hank frowned at the map. “These two facilities are four blocks from each other,” he mused. “How do we know which one is responsible for the contamination?”

Connor’s eyes flicked down to the desk. “I found nothing helpful in the DEQ reports. I am currently attempting to cross-reference security cameras and social media to find out.”

Sighing, the human leaned back in his chair again, rubbing at his face. “Gonna be a long night then.”

“On the contrary, Lieutenant,” replied Connor, disconnecting from the computer and straightening his jacket. “I can perform the requisite image processing at home, while you sleep,” he finished with a pointed look.

Hank glared, even as he turned his computer off and slowly pushed himself out of his chair. “All right, fine,” he groaned, stretching his back with a pop. “I’ll read the coroner’s report in the morning. And wipe that smirk off your face, damn it,” the human huffed with a narrow-eyed look at his partner. 

“To what are you referring, Lieutenant?” asked Connor, a perfect picture of innocence - except for the persistent twitch on one side of his mouth, and the mischievous glint in his eye.

“You know what I mean,” the tired man grumbled, shuffling toward the door. “Just for that, you’re driving me home.”

“Of course, Lieutenant,” replied Connor, secretly pleased. “Your current level of fatigue makes it unsafe for you to be operating a motor vehicle.”

Hank threw an exasperated look over his shoulder as the two investigators walked out into the cold night air. “Smartass,” he grumbled.

Connor didn’t even bother to hide his smug grin, which earned him a middle finger and a low chuckle from his partner.

 

* * *

 

Hank didn't even try to talk this time; he closed his eyes almost before Connor pulled out of the precinct parking lot. The young android smiled fondly at the light snores that began to emanate from the passenger seat a few minutes later. Glancing over to the side at a red light, the android carefully grabbed the spare blanket in the floorboards and draped it over Hank’s legs.

The man stirred without opening his eyes, mumbled, “Thanks kid,” and dozed off again. A warmth spread through Connor’s systems that had nothing to do with the still-frigid air in the car. 

When the duo arrived at the house, it was well past any sort of socially acceptable hour to be out. The quiet of the street soothed Connor’s processors, and he took a moment to breathe in the peaceful night before opening Hank’s car door. The man’s eyes opened in bleary slits, and he mumbled something unintelligible. 

Connor could have easily carried Hank into the house and deposited the exhausted human onto his bed, but he also knew that Hank would get quite worked up over the idea of being carried ‘bridal style’. Lips twitching at the preconstruction running in his processors -  _ Connor, put me the  _ **_fuck_ ** _ down, you fucking stupid tin can  _ \- Connor instead leaned over and gently peeled the blanket off. “Come on, Hank,” he murmured softly, “let’s get you inside.” 

“Mmmf,” grumbled the lieutenant crossly. “Fuckin’ shit hours, goddamn fuckin’ case,” he slurred as Connor helped him out of the car and leaned him against the back door. The android smiled a bit in silent agreement as Hank scrubbed a hand across his face and began to shuffle towards the door. Connor followed, watching him for any signs of compromised footing or balance. 

As Hank fumbled his key into the lock, something began to nag at his processors. Slipping briefly into his mind palace, he ran a comparison and blinked at what he found.  _ Where is Sumo?  _ Though the dog was known to be lazy, he'd always greet his master at the door when it was past his usual feeding time. 

A cold chill washed through his veins. “Hank,” he muttered, low and calm, hand out to stop the tired man’s movement. Wordlessly, he pulled Hank away from the door, fingers digging firmly into the shoulder of his worn jacket. 

Instantly awake and wide-eyed, Hank drew his gun out of the holster. He moved sideways to muscle his way in front of the android, who had not drawn his own weapon, but it was too late.

Connor threw the door open, then flung himself down and forward faster than Hank could have reacted. Two shots rang out in the quiet neighborhood. As Hank rounded the corner of the doorframe, gun up, he saw two figures wrestling on the floor. The light switch by the door didn't work. “Fuck!” he swore. “Connor!” 

Connor’s optical units were far more suited to low light, of course, so he could easily see his attacker: a RT600 android, dressed in black. 

She pulled a knife, but he struck it away. The knife was dulled by rusty flecks near the hilt, and there was a little blood on her hands. Her sleeve was torn, jagged puncture marks and wet thirium. 

_ Sumo. _

She was fast, and strong, but he was far better designed and trained for deadly combat. In addition to his natural advantages, the telltale flecks he’d seen of Sumo’s blood gave him the  unique power of fear-fueled rage. He met blow with counter-blow, absorbing the elbows and knees to his head without pause. She moved in close to grapple his head, but he finally managed to twist a knee between them and flung her back, into the wall. 

Hank’s gun thundered twice from the side, staggering her, as Connor pulled out his own weapon and put a single bullet into the center of her forehead. 

The Chloe android buckled slowly, landing facedown on the carpet. For a moment, the house was blessedly silent. 

Then, a tiny sound tickled the edges of Connor’s audial processor. He jumped up and dashed to the kitchen. “Sumo!”

Hank followed on suddenly shaky legs, weak from the adrenaline dump and dreading what he'd find. As he rounded the table, his worst fears manifested before his eyes. 

Sumo lay on his side on the kitchen floor, choking quietly, in a puddle of blood.

Connor’s hands went to the jagged knife wound in the dog's neck, pinching it shut with gentle fingers. “Hank…” he pleaded, voice low and trembling. 

Hank jerked to life and knelt on the cold tile, putting his left hand on Sumo’s head and wrapping his other arm around Connor’s slim shoulders. The android shuddered slightly, sagging into the half-embrace, eyes closing for just a moment. 

“It’s okay,” whispered Hank to the both of them, gently stroking the dog’s head. 

Connor’s hands never moved, rock-steady as he held the torn skin together without putting pressure on his swelling throat. His LED turned a solid yellow, eyes blinking and unfocused in a way that told Hank he was making a call. 

“A crime scene unit is on its way, and they are bringing a K-9 trauma specialist,” the android reported after a moment. His eyes refocused, staring forlornly at his unresponsive four-footed friend. A few silent tears welled in Hank’s eyes and dripped down his face, but he barely noticed. He simply sat there, hugging Connor and stroking Sumo’s head, until the sirens reached them.

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me! _hides_
> 
> I will respond to every comment, should you choose to leave one. Thank you for reading, and for all the lovely feedback this story has gotten so far. Y'all are a HUGE source of motivation for my writing, and I love you all <3
> 
> _runs from pitchforks_


End file.
